


Doomsday Averted

by lalazee



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Comedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5235221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalazee/pseuds/lalazee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of everything, Bond realizes it's Q that he wants when the world is ending. Q needs a little more convincing than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doomsday Averted

“Just the man I wanted to see.”

Q stared unblinkingly at the sharply dressed man in his doorway and repressed a sigh.

“I do wish I could say the same. How may I assist you on my one night off, 007?”

The sharp corner of Bond's mouth curled smartly. He had the most punachably distracting mouth.

“Well, first I was hoping you'd invite me in. Second, dinner.”

With unmasked trepidation, Q surveyed Bond from head to toe, noting his clean pressed grey slacks and fitted midnight blue pullover. Then Q made an obvious show of looking down at himself. His grubby olive corduroys and threadbare brown cardigan which had both seen better days.

“I'm not exactly dressed for dinner. Anyway, I'm certain you could find better company for the night than myself.”

Bond subtly cocked his head and took a step forward – too predatory in Q's mind – and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. His demeanor was casual, but Q knew that Bond did nothing casually. He was a man of purpose in all things.

“And yet, here I stand,” Bond said, icy eyes searching Q's face for God knew what.

“Thank you for the _glowing_ compliment,” Q said dryly. “But truly, haven't I done you enough favors recently? I've no intention of gussying myself up for dinner at some posh restaurant full of pompous pricks.”  
  
“Am I a pompous prick, Q?” The humor was evident in Bond's voice, which only fueled the Q's need to be rid of him.

The past events involving Franz, and Dr. Swann, and Bond falling off the radar - and subsequently Q's protection - had been enough for Q's nerves. And his heart.

Bond had expertly pulled him along by his heart strings throughout that entire ordeal. Whether he'd known it or not, Q couldn't be sure. But he knew himself well enough to be cognisant of how he had followed Bond's bidding like an adoring puppy and his master.

And Q was no bloody puppy.

He needed to create distance – post haste.

When Q didn't reply to Bond's query, there was only a soft snort of laughter as Bond shifted in the doorway. He stood straight once more, and having taken another step forward, was directly in Q's person space. Close enough that Q could smell Bond's cool, expensive cologne, like brisk arctic air. Close enough that his breath was warm and sweet and temptingly near Q's own lips.

“Lucky for you,” Bond said, low and smooth, “I had no plans of leaving your flat. I was thinking more a celebration between the two of us. Doomsday averted and all that.”

He was doing it again. Q was sure of it. Using this blasted magnetism of his to lure him in, but only to the point where Bond got what he wanted and Q was left drained and used up.

Well, no longer.

Hardening his expression, Q swallowed hard and pressed a hand on Bond's chest. His palm rested on hard, hot rock. The man was quite made of steel. Through and through, Q sometimes imagined.

And Q pushed away. For the first time, he found the strength to push away. He wouldn't be playing Bond's game any longer.

“Thank you, but I'll have to decline. I'm exhausted.”

In more ways that one.

Bond remained unreadable and he didn't budge against the pressure of Q's weight. If anything, he leaned in further, looming.

“I'll cook for you.”

A second ticked by, then two, then more.

Q blinked, his tongue tied.

“I – uh – pardon? You want to...”

“Cook. For you.” A short, quick smile bloomed and faded in seconds. Almost boyish, and just enough so Q became painfully aware of his own face going up in flame.

“I-I'm sorry. Am I – do you even _know_ how to cook?”

“I know a little bit of everything,” Bond said with a more practiced smirk. He looked down, his forehead nearly brushing Q's. They both peered at Q's hand, which was still resting, now comfortably, on Bond's chest. Bond peered up, met Q's eyes. “ _Now_ may I come in, my Quartermaster?”

Q made a mental note to smack himself in the mirror later. As it was, he stumbled back a few steps, spun on one heel and flung a hand carelessly in the air.

“Have at it.”

“Excellent,” Bond said, striding in like he owned the place and locking the door behind him.

This wasn't his first time invading Q's space, but this was certainly him at his most casual. Bond wandered the small living room, not touching any of Q's kitschy décor, but devouring every nook and cranny as he had a habit of doing with any room he entered.

Q took in the wide span of Bond's shoulders, the trim fit of his hips, the outrageous curve of his arse.

He needed a drink.

“I'm making tea,” Q said, clearing his throat quickly when his voice cracked. “Would you, uh, do you fancy a cuppa?”

“Scotch?” Bond asked over his shoulder. He was intent on a framed photo of teenage Q and his university friends, windswept and laughing on a beach in Bournemouth.

“I haven't. Hey,” Q said with a frown. “If you're planning to cook for me, where's the groceries?”

There was a moment's pause before Bond turned with a shrug.

“I lied. I just wanted you to let me in.”

Q felt his cheeks color once more.

“You're a right cad, you know that?”

“I have some inclination from time to time.” Bond slipped his hands into his pockets and approached Q without a hint of apology. “I haven't a clue how to cook, in all honesty. Would you like to teach me?”

“I'd like to throw you out the bloody window at this point.”

“I'd survive it.”

“With much pain, I pray.”

Bond actually had the nerve to chuckle, his eyes twinkling with a mirth that Q hadn't seen in ages – if ever.

“I do intend to buy you dinner, however. Anything in the city, as long as it delivers. You name it and I'll make it happen.”

“It's the least you could do,” Q said under his breath as he stalked to his cramped kitchen. Now he really needed that cuppa.

He filled the kettle and set it to boil, mentally talking himself down from his own personal rage at being once more fooled by Bond. When would he ever learn? Bond never _wanted_ him. He only needed Q to help make his ends meet.

Q didn't need to turn to know when Bond had slipped into the room. He glared down at the slowly simmering kettle.

“What do you really need from me, Bond? I'm sure it's not my company. You've got that in spades all across London.”

Silence prevailed for so long that Q was beginning to think Bond wasn't there after all. And then:

“When I thought that building would crumble around me, it was your face I last saw.” Bond's voice was a hush, a murmur beneath the climbing bubbling boil of the kettle. “Because when I was on that train to the middle of nowhere, I'd wished it was you I was going nowhere with.”

The kettle popped loudly, and Q flinched both at the sound and the way his heart shot into his throat like a firework. He sputtered a short, dry laugh and couldn't bear to turn around. Surely this was another joke.

“Do you know who you're speaking to? I'm not some rich, lonely woman in a high tower in need of saving and a knight in black Audi.”

“If you were, then this would be going a lot more smoothly.”

Q whipped around with a fiery glare, his arms folded across his chest in defense as he leaned against the counter.

“And _what_ the _fuck_ is this? What do you _want_ from me, 007? Because I am at an utter loss. You've never had to butter me up to this extent to get something you've needed.”

“Well,” Bond said, his mouth a sober line, his eyes guarded. “What I need is you. So I must admit to experiencing some difficulty right now.”

“I -” Q could only stare. He threw his hands in the air and dropped them limply to his sides. “I don't believe you for a second.”

Couldn't let himself believe something so preposterous. He was, well, _himself_. And Bond was, well, _himself_.

Bond remained still, a rock amongst the thrashing tidal waves of Q's shaking frame. His eyes, however, appeared to search Q as if he were some vault which required unlocking.

“I want you,” Bond said simply. “I've decided.”

A hysterical laugh caught in Q's chest as he choked it down with a snort.

“Good God, you _are_ full of yourself, aren't you? This is ridiculous. _You're_ ridiculous. What in the world would make you think that I'd want some self-absorbed, aging spy with a death wish?”

Bond's eyes narrowed and sharpened as he started towards him.

“Let's find out.”

Later, Q would tell himself that he'd had no time to react. But he had. He was smarter, quicker than that. And he still let it happen.

Bond captured Q's mouth in a stronghold, firm and unyielding, fevered lips possessing Q's with an urgency to which he couldn't help but surrender. Large palms dragged up Q's arms, gripped his shoulders, and pulled him impossibly close. Bond's body was like hot iron against his own, melting right through Q to his core.

Equations spun and dizzied Q's mind, all of them screaming that he and Bond could only equal disaster. They didn't add up to something real or tangible or -

Oh, but _Lord_ , the man's _tongue_.

Mugs, teaspoons, and the toaster clattered across the counter as Bond promptly slid his hands down Q's arse, squeezed the back of his thighs and hefted him atop the cheap formica. The counter's edge dug into the backs of Q's knees and he couldn't care less as he spread them, mindlessly inviting Bond in.

Bond refused to release Q's lips as he stepped between his thighs, his movements sleek and assured and altogether mesmerizing. Wide, work roughened palms cradled Q's face on either side, kept him securely in place as Bond plundered his mouth with lashes of tongue.

The slow swell of heat rising between them was like a sauna, and after some eternal moments, Q pulled back to gasp for breath. In the dim glow of the kitchen light, Bond fair English pallor was steeped in pink, his lips dark and swollen from Q's, his eyes just slivers of blue eclipsed by dark moon irises. He didn't look calm. He didn't look like Q had ever seen him.

Yet still, Bond's voice remained thick but steady.

“Are you interested now?”

“Do I have a choice?” Q said quickly, refusing to acknowledge that his legs at some point had wrapped firmly around Bond's waist and remained as such.

“Naturally,” Bond said.

Although his body language had already seemed to claim Q, like a vice, his hands flat on either side of him on the counter, caging Q in.

His expression, however – his expression appeared oddly vulnerable. Open. Q blinked the lust from his eyes and narrowed them in thought. His heart still beat like a jackhammer, but his head almost universally took precedent.

“Are you being serious with me, here?”

“Do I not seem serious?”

He did. It was making Q exponentially unnerved.

“ _Seriously_ a pain in my _arse_.”

“I can be that too,” Bond said with a flash of a grin.

Q's heart slammed painfully against his ribcage.

“How bloody romantic,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I _was_ attempting to seduce you, but I can't say it was working out all that well. New tactics.”

A frown pulled at Q's mouth. He met Bond's gaze steadily and took a breath, releasing it in a soft sigh.

“You don't have to seduce me.”

Bond mirrored Q's expression.

“Why?”

“Well, because you've always had me.”

Bond's brows shot up, then dropped down in almost comic suspicion as he examined Q's face for what Q assumed were hints of a joke. Of course, there were none. Just himself laid awkwardly bare while sitting on a kitchen countertop in the middle of the night.

“Honestly?” Bond said, sounding almost surprised by this turn of events. Maybe his confidence had been a mask, after all.

Q glowered.

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”

Bond's lips curved as he leaned in.

“Copy that.”

 


End file.
